


The First Night

by CozyCryptidCorner



Series: Gift from the Nighttide [2]
Category: Original Work, exophilia - Fandom
Genre: Changeling - Freeform, Exophilia, F/M, Fingering, Human/Monster Romance, Loss of Virginity, Married Sex, Masturbation, Sex, Smut, fae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-23 02:38:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17071904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CozyCryptidCorner/pseuds/CozyCryptidCorner
Summary: Tonight is the night you and your husband commit you bodies and souls to each other. You have often heard of the pain that comes with your virginity, but Alesdair would not have you fear for long.





	The First Night

**Author's Note:**

> A heads up for anyone passing through! If you're just here for the smut, you don't have to read the previous part of the story. There is nothing special in this chapter that you need to know, no surprise test at the end of the story you need to take. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“She’s  _your_  problem now, son.” Your father smacks your now-husband on the shoulder jovially, a joke that makes your eyes sting.

 

“She is no one’s problem, sir,” Alesdair responds, trying to sound polite through his steadily thinning patience. “If you don’t mind, she and I are going to make a hasty retreat. There are things we must-”

 

“Consummate!” Your father guffaws loud enough for everyone in a fifty-mile radius to hear. You feel the eyes of men and boys fall on you as though all are imagining what will happen in your bed. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you just want to leave from everyone’s scrutiny.

 

Your mother helps you with your shawl, fussing over you for what she feels is one last time. “You’ll be brave, won’t you?” She asks, holding your shoulders as though preparing you for battle.

 

“When am I not?” You give her a smile to show her that you are fine.

 

“That’s my baby girl.” Her arms squeeze you in a monstrous hug, near crushing your ribs and cutting off your air. She turns to Alesdair, who is making his way towards you. “Be good to her, Duncan, ya hear?” You never once thought your mother to be capable of threats, but there is a warning in her words.

 

“Of course.” Alesdair takes your hand and squeezes it. “Do you need any help before we leave?”

 

Your mother shakes her head. “It is best if you go now before the men get rowdy with drink.” She hugs you one last time, and even pats Alesdair on the arm. “I’ll see you the day after tomorrow. Be careful.”

 

“Goodnight, Ma.” You kiss her cheek, then allow Alesdair to lead you away from the crowds. As the sounds of the festivities fade away, replaced with the sounds of crickets and wind, you feel your tense muscles relax.

 

With your dowry came a small plot of land on the west of your father’s property. On that plot of land, Alesdair and the rest of the Miller men built a little cabin before the wedding day so you may have somewhere to go after the ceremony. You remember being almost blown away by how that place was going to be yours, for you and Alesdair to rule over as though king and queen of that bit of forest.

 

The air is heavy with the promise of rain. Little glowing dots float around the grass, blinking back and forth to each other as Alesdair leads you over to a trail newly made. You have only walked through this part of the forest once, a few days ago, to survey the new structure. It is modest, smaller than the cabin your family shares. The little home is made of the logs Alesdair and the Miller boys had cleared away from the area.

 

Lantern in hand, Alesdair points up ahead to a familiar shape in the trees. “That would be our house, light of my life.”

 

A squeal forms in your throat, though you keep from letting your childish glee take over your mind. “It is the most beautiful home in the entire world,” you manage to articulate like an adult.

 

The inside has a single bedroom, though it can easily be added on as children come into your life. The room right through the front door is the kitchen, a little wood stove on the far side of the place for you to cook with. On the other side of the wall is your bedroom, a bed stuffed with straw and feathers, covered with a quilt that you and your mother spend the better half of a year crafting for your predicted marriage.

 

Alesdair places the lantern on the tiny four-person table, then turns back to you. Silence descends on the little cabin. You lean in closer to your husband, burying your face in his chest and embracing his muscular body. He smells like the forest, sharp and green like a hike just before the sun rises. Alesdair kisses your head, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer.

 

“Before we begin,” Alesdair murmurs into your hair, “I think you should have a chance to see my true face.”

 

“Your- oh.” You nod hastily, taking a step back. “Do you need space to change? Do you need to take off your clothes? Water?” You wrack your brain for anything else he might require. “Um-”

 

“Love, I’m not a werewolf.” Alesdair smiles gently. “Look at my face.”

 

His features had sharpened, which you at first chalked up to the dim light. It is not the shadows, though. Alesdair’s skin turns sallow, then a dull shade of green. His pupils grow, overtaking his iris and then the whites of his eyes. The strands of his hair bleed black from the roots to tips, the curls untwisting into a wave. You think maybe he became thinner, but not haggard. He still stands taller than you by a few inches, but not as tall as he was while pretending to be Duncan.

 

You stare, unabashed, at his inhuman features. Then you reach over, running your fingertips from his hairline, down to his nose. Alesdair’s skin is far smoother than yours, with little pores. Hands shaking with anticipation, you trace his cheekbones, trailing down to his chin. You raise your fingers from his jawline to his ears, running over the pointed with a fascinated sigh, and his mouth curves into a smile.

 

“Is this the part where we take off our clothes?” You ask in barely a whisper.

 

“Would you like this to be that part?” Alesdair asks gently, placing his hands on your hips.

 

“Do you think…” You take a shuddering breath, a queasy pressure squeezing in your lungs. “Do you think it will hurt?”

 

“Not if I do it right.” He gives you a sideways smile, his sharpened canines glimmering. Quickly melting from confident, he moves his hands from your hips to your own face, cupping your cheeks and running his thumbs under your eyes. “I would never hurt you, intentional or otherwise. If you want me to stop at any moment, I will. I promise.”

 

You nod, taking a deep breath to quell your nerves. “Let’s begin.”

 

Alesdair releases your face, then begins to remove his shirt. Fascination takes over any last strands of fear as you watch the skin of his stomach peak from the cloth. Without thinking, you reach over and place your palm just above his bellybutton, moving it upwards as slowly as you can muster. You come to his pecs, picking his left one to start with, and ghost your finger over his nipple. At his sharp breath, you quickly withdraw your hand.

 

“I’m sorry” you begin just as he says “don’t stop” and the two of you pause.

 

“You liked that?” You ask, feeling overwhelmingly pleased.

 

“Yes.” Alesdair whispers, voice suddenly soft with an unfamiliar husk to his voice.

 

You reach your hand back up and brush over his nipple again, then trace over his collarbone on the way to his other pec. The dark circles peak up in sharp little nubs with every stroke, Alesdair’s every breath becoming slightly more drawn. His forehead presses against yours as you continue to trace his muscles in a strange fascination.

 

“Help me,” you take a deep breath, “undo my corset.”

 

After you spin around, he is quick to find the fastens, and the leather corset falls to the ground in a dull thud. You can suddenly breathe in a more relaxed fashion. Next, his fingers find the buttons of your wedding gown, undoing them with some amount of ease. The fabric slips from your shoulders, pooling around your ankles, and you step backward away from your dress and towards him. All that covers you now is a simple muslin underthing. Alesdair’s arms wrap around your waist, slow and tentative as though approaching a wild doe in the forest. “I love you,” he murmurs in your ear, kissing the lobe and then burying his face in your neck.

 

“I love you,” you whisper back, folding your hands over his.

 

“Do you want to move to the bedroom?” He asks.

 

You nod, and he continues to hold your hands as he leads you forward, towards the doorway to your new room. Goosebumps rise on your arms as Alesdair places a finger on your lips. He gently drags his nail down from your chin, past your collarbone, traveling through the valley of your still-clothed breasts, and stopping just above your bellybutton as though he can see it through the fabric. Though his pupils are gone, Alesdair’s eyes are hooded, and you can tell his gaze follows the trail of blushing flesh his index finger left in its wake. His face suddenly snaps back up to yours, and he smiles. “You are very beautiful, you know.”

 

You blush so hard your face might be purple. “So are you,” you respond, glad for the moonlight streaming in through the far window. The cool light outlines the contours of his body, turning his skin from green to an almost icy marine.

 

“You are also the most clever person I know.” Alesdair bumps his forehead against yours, his mouth barely a hair’s width away. His words a softly mumbled so that only you could hear, as though the two of you are sharing the most intimate of secrets that not even the walls could be allowed to know.

 

“The competition isn’t fierce.” You murmur in response, a grin tugging on your mouth. You close the short distance between you and him, tilting your chin up and kissing your husband. His bare chest presses up against you, a thin layer of muslin separating your skin from each other, your hands settling on his waist. His tongue prods at your mouth, and you let it explore the inside your lips. It is an interesting way to kiss, you think, and a sweet kind of heat grows between your thighs. You try to respond in kind, pressing your tongue against his, and he cradles your face with his hands as he guides your mouth’s movements.

 

After a few minutes of this, he pulls his face away. “Would you like for me to take off the rest of my clothes?”

 

At your hasty nod, he takes a step back and kicks off his boots. Alesdair slips his thumbs in the waistband of pants, a bulge having developed during your kissing session. Then he shimmies the clothing down, an erection springing free and you finally have a good look at a man’s cock. Not that you’ve tried looking at one much before, they usually just came to you swinging, unfortunately. But this is undoubtedly the first one you have wanted to see.

 

It is thick and long, maybe about the size of the base of your wrist to the top of your finger. Some veins wrap around the flesh, coloring the skin blue where they weave. The tip is weeping some kind of clear liquid, it must be similar to what you feel pooling inside your core. You stare, and Alesdair makes no sound, says nothing, only lets you succumb to your curiosity.

 

Then, you grab the hem of your slip, quickly pulling it over your head and throwing it haphazardly away before second-guessing yourself. Quickly reaching over to clutch his hands tightly, you let your husband look at you while resisting the urge to cover yourself. His gaze is not filled with an overwhelming sense of entitlement towards your body, but with a marveling kind of reverence. You feel safe.

 

He reaches over, stopping just shy of your skin. “Might I touch you?”

 

You grasp his wrist and bring it down on your breast. His hand is warm, the palm rough with calluses against your tender skin. Alesdair’s fingers touch your nipples, then gently squeeze your breasts as though checking for firmness. “You’re so soft,” he whispers in awe, tracing the circular outline of your chest.

 

Without thinking much, you lead him through the few steps it takes to get to bed, laying against the mattress once your legs hit the wooden frame. Alesdair waits a silent beat for you to make yourself comfortable, kicking away the quilt and moving just shy of the headboard. Tentatively, slowly, careful as to not startle you, he crawls onto the bed as well, placing hands on your thighs and moving them slightly apart so that he could kneel comfortably in between them. “Is this alright? You could be on top if you want.”

 

Your head spins at the unknown possibilities. Since you don’t want to admit that you would not know what to do, you merely croak out “I’m fine this way,” watching every twitch of his cock.

 

“Alright.” Alesdair leans over to give you a quick peck on your lips, his tongue snaking out for a single taste. “I am going to begin, but please,” he waggles his index finger at you, “you need to tell me if you feel uncomfortable or in pain. I can’t bring you pleasure if I don’t know what works and what doesn’t.”

 

You swallow thickly, a single spark of excitement igniting your blood. “Of course.”

 

Alesdair rewards you with a signature cocky grin, then takes his index finger down, down, down, in between your legs, and runs it over your nether region. You gasp on instinct, the feeling of someone else touching you is foreign and unknown, but not unwelcome. Alesdair dips his finger into your slit, and you frown as you try to discern if that movement is pleasurable or not. At first, it feels strange, though not too entirely unpleasant. He bends his finger slightly, almost in a beckoning motion, and you tense up on instinct.

 

“Do you need me to stop?” He asks, understandingly.

 

“Why are you using your fingers?” You question in response.

 

“I’m trying to stretch you a bit so it won’t hurt,” Alesdair pulls his hand away, the index finger wet with you. Then he licks it, a blue tongue lashing out from his mouth and running from the base to the tip in one lap.

 

“What are you-” you stammer, sitting up a bit.

 

“It tastes nice.” He explains with a mischievous grin. “If you will let me, I will continue.”

 

You heart drums in your chest, loud and quick. Blood rushes in your ears as you look at his hand, the one poised to return to your dripping cunt, and you give a quick nod. He slips it back in, then begins to make a pumping motion, slowly thrusting in and out. Your insides start to relax against his movements, in fact, dare you say, it even begins to feel good.

 

“I’m going to add another finger,” Alesdair says, “you’re doing beautifully.”

 

Again, you feel tight and strange as he slides a second finger in with the first. While he moves inside you, his thumb brushes up against a little nub. You gasp as a shock of pleasure runs through your body, your thighs quaking on their own accord.

 

“Oh, I like that response,” Alesdair whispers, repeating the motion, his thumb finding the nub again and pressing against it experimentally. You give a little pleasured whimper, the heat inside your body lashing out through your limbs, causing your toes to curl and your fingers to tangle in the sheets. His fingers begin to move apart from each other in a scissoring motion, expanding your insides gradually enough not to hurt.

 

Alesdair pulls his hand away, placing it on his raised cock head, rubbing your slick onto his skin. There is something strangely arousing about it, you decide, and another wave of wet heat runs down to your core. Gently, he places his hands on your thighs, spreading your legs to make room for his waist. He moves forward, pressing his bare body against yours, his cock on your stomach.

 

“Are you ready?” His breath tickles your neck as he trails open-mouthed kisses from your collarbone to the edge of your jawline.

 

“I trust you.” You nod, tangling your fingers into his raven hair. He kisses you once on the mouth, a chaste and reassuring kiss that causes the muscles in your body to melt, then he shifts his hips up and lines his cock up with your quivering slit.

 

Alesdair slides inside you gradually, with care. At first, it feels no less strange than when he first began to use his fingers, the object foreign to your unsure body. Once he is fully sheathed inside you, he waits. His lips press against the edge of your chin, eyes no longer hooded but wide and focused. A shuddering breath exhales from his body, as though he is suddenly struggling to keep his composure. “You feel,” Alesdair chokes, barely able to retrieve the word, “exquisite.”

 

“I do?” You ask, finding a cruel kind of enjoyment in seeing your lover become so rapidly undone.

 

“Unbelievably so.” Alesdair kisses your chin again, then follows the path of your jawline before nipping at your earlobe. You let out a little gasp, a tiny star shooting from your ear, to your fingertips, to your core. Everything squeezes tight and then releases as the tremor passes through your muscles. Alesdair laughs quietly. “I certainly felt that.”

 

He braces himself on his arms, hands flat on either side of your body, pressing his waist even more impossibly close into yours. “Moment of truth,” he says, arching his eyebrows, “if anything doesn’t feel right, or if it hurts, tell me.”

 

Then he pulls backward, his cock sliding against your walls, pulling out to almost the tip. Slowly still, he pushes back. Your insides open up to his girth almost more natural than the last time, the uncomfortable feeling passing and then quickly forgotten. When he pulls away once more, you raise your hips to meet his thrust. A quick burst of pleasure runs through your nerves, and you gasp, needing to grab, to touch the cause of your enjoyment. Your hands run over his chest, upwards to his shoulders, and finally settling an unsteady grip on his biceps.

 

Alesdair twists his hips, one of his hands leaving your side and finding that sweet little bud just above where the two of you are joined. The moment he ghosts his fingers over it, you buck your hips and cry out, overwhelmed, vision turning blurry at the edges. He does not take that as a sign to go easy on your sensitive body, oh no, he begins to rub the little bud with two of his fingers, watching you with eager eyes as you start to fall apart.

 

You twist and whine, words barely able to form, much less coherent sentences. The only thing you seem to manage in communicating is a desperate “more,  _more,_  please,” and by god, he complies. Something is coming, twisting forward in the murky depths of your pleasure. First, it beckons you softly, spreading like a budding flower in your core. Then it happens, all at once, your spine snaps to attention, the muscles in your legs seize, and your slit is suddenly so tight you can feel it constricting around Alesdair’s cock.

 

He chokes, his hips trembling unevenly as something hot and wet fills your insides. And then your body bucks, up towards him as a cool kind of pleasure bursts in your veins. Your core clenches around him again, just as tight, and releases. His strokes against your bud become sloppy, but you would not know to care. Another spark of pleasure runs through your muscles, and you feel a rush of something damp come from somewhere inside your slit, dripping down from its source and around Alesdair’s softening cock.

 

You are cold and hot, icy and on fire, your muscles slowly unraveling as whatever just happened comes to pass. A previously unknown kind of soreness pinches at the muscles of your thighs, spreading slowly but steadily into your core. Alesdair is spent, laying beside you and breathing rather heavily.

 

“You are remarkable,” he states, as though no alternative could possibly exist in the world.

 

“Is that what sex is supposed to be like?” You ask, breathless and wondrously satisfied at the discovery.

 

“Well, it will be better now that your body knows what to expect how to handle it.” His arms reach over, pulling your still bare body closer to him. He presses a kiss to your neck.

 

 _Better?!_  “I like sex,” you decide confidently.

 

Alesdair chuckles, kissing your neck again. Echoes of pleasure zing from where he places his lips. “I’m glad to hear that.”

 

You are shockingly quick to fall asleep, cuddling up to the warmth of your husband. In the morning, you wake to someone pressing their mouth against your arm, leaving a path of kisses up to your shoulder. You open your eyes to see Alesdair, with pale skin and freckles once more, sprawled across the mattress while fully clothed. When you spin around to face him, he plants a kiss on your mouth.

 

“Good morning,” he murmurs, “I’m about to go out to fetch some wood for the fire.”

 

You sit up slightly, using the quilt to cover your chest. “Do you, um, need help with anything?”

 

He kisses you again. “You rest,” he says, “I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t wake up in an empty bed with no idea where I am.”

 

You grin lazily and lean over to give a slightly more passionate kiss. “Alesdair, you are the sweetest man to walk this rotten earth.”

 

“I’ll take the compliment.” He pulls away and tucks a tuft of hair away from your face. “Rest now, I’ll prepare some water for a bath.”

 

You obey, laying your head back down on the limp pillow, pulling the quilt back up to your chin. Even though there is a dully cool soreness in your core, you have never before felt so comfortable. You fall asleep again, to the quiet sounds of domestic nature in the kitchen as Alesdair works. You feel loved. You feel at peace.

 

You are happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Ya'll
> 
> Unlike [my Tumblr](https://cozycryptidcorner.tumblr.com/), I can see the traffic going through my fics on here. It really discourages me when I see people reading my things without leaving a kudo or a comment, because I truly appreciate feedback from everyone!


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